Blue Skies Ahead, Captain
by Peter T. Duende
Summary: Captain James Kirk, Commander Spock, Nyota Uhura, Leonard McCoy, Montgomery Scott, Pavel Chekov, and Hikaru Sulu; they all met their end somehow. Here is how and when. Here is why. (Rated T for brief mentions of death and graphic disease/wounds)
1. Chapter 1-That Russian Kid

Although I am unable to write often, I do enjoy it very much! Here is the first of 7 bittersweet scribblings that will be my first contributions to the pool of Star Trek fictions. This fiction is based off of the alternate universe created (partly) by J.J. Abrams, as I haven't watched enough of the original series to properly fall in love with that storyline. (I do plan on watching all of the original series and movies chronologically someday.) I hope you enjoy!

 **Blue Skies Ahead, Captain**

 **By Unclaimed Demigod**

 **Theme Song** : "Nature of Daylight" by Max Richter, from the "Shutter Island" movie soundtrack

 **Chapter One** : That Russian Kid

Written 11.26.16

Pavel Chekov joined Starfleet at the age of 15; he was one of the youngest ever to make that kind of sacrifice for their planet.

There wasn't a day that he never smiled; his crewmates can tell you that. Ask any of them.

He was the Enterprise's youngest crewmember, yet not the most incompetent.

On the day he died, everyone was there with him. He was scared, very scared, but with his Captain on one side of him, and one of his best friends Hikaru Sulu on his other, death wasn't as cold.

There had been a mutiny on the Enterprise. Mutiny. No one ever joked about the meaning of that word, yet no one on the Enterprise took it as a possibility on their ship; not with Captain James Kirk aboard.

Living beings can make mistakes, we can guess wrong, but we can't always go back and take the necessary precautions.

They were floating out in space in a partially disabled shuttle when he passed. Almost everyone there cried when at last his labored breathing stopped.

When it was all over, when the Enterprise was recovered, the perpetrators were in jail, and everything was back to "normal," Kirk set himself to the task of pulling together Ensign Chekov's last report.

He was almost too shocked to assemble the documents concerning Chekov. He also didn't know quite where to start. He had hardly known Chekov when he first became Captain, he'd, at first, just called him "that Russian kid," and even when Chekov had been a crewmember for four or five years Kirk had still referred to him as such.

He didn't feel strong enough for any of this. Death is a pull back into reality. You're sitting on your butt, living your somewhat comfortable life, when suddenly a buddy dies and death takes you by the hand and roughly jerks you to your feet.

They hour came when Kirk had to call Chekov's mother. He almost chickened out and ordered Spock to do it for him. The mostly unemotional Vulcan would be the ideal bearer of news; tears wouldn't get in the way of his message. But in a case like this it was protocol, Starfleet procedure, for the Captain to deliver the news. Personally if possible, if not, by an on screen call. A _live_ on screen call.

As soon as the face of Chekov's mother appeared live on his private screen in his quarters, as he spoke the words that he knew would crush her, he was forced to act concerned but not _too_ concerned under federation rule. You were delivering a death notice, not seeking comfort.

After saying hello and all of that, Kirk barely choked back the heavy emotion in his voice as he delivered the weighty message.

"I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you Mrs. Chekov, that on June 19th, around 1600 hours, your son the Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov lost his life from fatal puncture wounds to his upper body."

Chekov's mother broke down, and it was all Kirk could do to not spill the tears that welled up in his eyes.

"He died a hero ma'am."

Kirk knew that nothing he could say could cool and heal the gaping wound in her heart, in all of their hearts, but he had to try.

"He saved 30 crewmembers' lives, and aided in the destroying of several of the mutineers before…" His voice hitched. Mrs. Chekov didn't appear to be listening, but he had to tell her. "Before he was hurt."

He was going to end with another pitiful "I'm sorry" and then end the communication, when suddenly she lifted her tear splashed face and asked, "Did he die alone?"

Alone. She wasn't asking if he was the only one to die, but if he was by himself, if no one was holding his hand, if he went into the unknown without people to help him be brave.

"No. I was with him. I and the rest of the crew that he saved."

She slowly nodded at this. "Pavel was a good boy. He joined Starfleet at 15, did you know that?" Kirk nodded. As Captain he had to know a lot about his crew.

"Most teenagers, even the talented ones, wouldn't give up their years for the good of others. But Pavel,…" She paused for a moment; Kirk wondered if their talk was over.

"Pavel is… _was_ different. Even as a child he was selfless. When he was 7 years old, his father died. There was no money, eventually no food. And Pavel, you know what he did? He wouldn't eat until his sisters, his baby brother, and even I had eaten; just to make sure everyone got a meal. I tried to not allow it, but, you can't break…it isn't right to try to break good….habits….a good nature."

She talked for hours about Chekov, Kirk soon felt as if he knew Chekov less like a Captain, and more like a brother. When Mrs. Chekov saw how tired Kirk looked, she thanked him and broke the link.

Kirk sat there for a while, staring at his reflection in the screen. Wonder, survivor's guilt, and pain all jumbled together to form a boiling, writhing mess inside him.

He turned his screen back on to finish Chekov's certificate of…certificate of death.

()()() _Certificate of Passing for: Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov_

 _Date of Birth: 2241_

 _Date of Passing: 2263_

 _Gender: Male_

 _Species: Human_

 _Position(s): Navigator, Weapons officer, Science officer_

 _Ensign Chekov joined the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet in the year of 2256. He was top of his class in stellar cartography and transporter theory. A few notable facts are that Ensign Chekov was an expert in advanced theoretical physic, was the youngest cadet in history to win the Starfleet Academy marathon, and was the youngest Starfleet Academy graduate at the age of seventeen._ ()()()

 _Beat my record of graduating by a year_ , thought Kirk. The kid was a genius. _Had been_ a genius. As he typed in additions to Chekov's file, he didn't notice that his tears had stopped.

When he realized he had started to add personal notes to the file he paused. These notes wouldn't be cut out unless at the request of Starfleet or Chekov's mother. He decided to leave them in.

()()() _Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise: Additional Notes:_

 _Chekov was the youngest crewmember aboard the Enterprise. Even though I'm Captain, I'm still closer in age to Chekov than a lot of the crew. We weren't extremely close, but I knew Chekov well enough to realize that in a fight he had my back. He wasn't the most popular crewmember on board, I doubt more than a fourth of the crew knew his first name. What friends he had though, he was close to, Ensign Uhura and Sulu being two of them._

 _I don't know if these notes are going to be cut out later on for being too personal, but I feel like I need to put them down. Words aren't enough to really describe a person, but I'm doing my best._

 _Chekov smiled every day. Whenever he got too excited, Ensign Uhura would end up having to interpret his animated Russian to the rest of us. He was a lot braver and definitely smarter than most of us, and I think whatever supernatural being there is out there for letting Chekov be one of the crew on this ship_. ()()()

As he tapped ' _Save_ ,' he still felt like he hadn't quite covered who Chekov was. He felt angry with himself for not knowing Chekov better, but as the next days flashed by, he realized that was regret.

Regret. That nauseating little emotion that sprouts from grief.

Kirk buried it away beneath the rest of the regret and pain that made up his life, but as he did so, he found memories. Good memories.

They were still allowed to remember Chekov, even as they mourned for him.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, straightened his gold-yellow shirt, and the rest of the crew joined him, and never stopped, in remembering Pavel Chekov: crewmate, brother, boy genius, friend.

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	2. Chapt2-ThatScottishGuyDowninEngineering

**Blue Skies Ahead, Captain**

 **By Unclaimed Demigod**

 **Theme Song** : The only way I have been able to "refind" this song is by copying/typing "Most Emotional Music Ever: Sea And Sand (Sad/Sentimental)" into YouTube. You'll want the one by the user HDSounDI.

 **Chapter Two** : That Scottish Guy Down in Engineering

Written 12.13-16.16

 **/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/**

 _Stardate: 2273_

There isn't just one word that could ever describe Montgomery Scott. You could start with the impersonal 'engineer.' Or you could even go as far as to say he was, simply, 'Scotty.' You could go with the truer 'brave,' or 'selfless,' or 'hard-working,' but as was said before, there isn't just one word that could be used to define who Scotty is…..was.

A heart is the tough muscle, found in most living creatures, that pumps and pulls blood around your body, feeding oxygen to the other 'lesser' organs. It's often hard to physically hurt the heart, but when it happens, it almost never heals. Even with today's technology we can't reverse a heart attack.

/ **\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/** \

Captain James Kirk sat slumped at a table in the lobby of the Starfleet base in Yorktown. He scratched at the glass that made up the table; his fingernails left no mark. If you were one of the busy personnel dashing past, and you happened to glance at the captain slouching in his uncomfortable chair, you would have guessed that he was bored. But if you stopped to look, though no one did, you would have noticed the dried tear streaks down his face, the dejected stance his shoulders took, the red eyes, the occasional quiver of the chin.

A lone Vulcan in traditional Vulcan travel garb strode into the lobby from the outside. Even a systematic examination of the Vulcan would have unveiled nothing; only if you knew him though, would you have been able to see past the typical emotionless countenance and spot the heavy grief in his brown eyes. He stepped lightly over to where his dejected captain sat.

He noticed the small, personal liquor flask resting on its side ear the captain's feet. The lid was off, therefore the bottle was empty. Now noticing the captain's dilated eyes, his drunken breathing, he unordinarily, gently, placed a hand on Kirk's shoulder and said, "Captain, the entire crew has been alerted." He didn't mention the fact that public intoxication, though overlooked in bars was entirely unacceptable on Starfleet grounds.

The captain pulled his emotions together enough not to sob again as he replied. "Even all of the former crew, right?" He'd been recalling how he'd often jokingly refer to Scotty as 'that Scottish guy down in engineering,' just to make people smile. It was such a little thing, but he didn't know if Scotty really appreciated the reference at all.

Spock nodded. He now definitely smelled the strong drink on the captain's breath. "The original crew has been alerted. As well as Mr. Scott's closest family. Were you able to reach Lieutenant Jaala?"

Kirk nodded slowly. He'd asked Spock, even though he was no longer his first officer, to contact the people that would care that Scotty had passed; usually the captain's task, but he'd at the time been unable to control his sobs. Most of his current crew didn't notice their captain's tears, they only knew him as stolid, brave, and occasionally rebellious. As soon as he could stop softly crying, he'd called the only person he hadn't asked Spock to contact: Jaala.

She needed to know from someone who would feel as she did. Spock acted impersonal on calls like this, and Jaala, who had been close to Scotty, would need someone who freely expressed their grief, someone who would openly sympathize with her.

When he called her she cried, a mournful moan that tore at Kirk's being. But as soon as she'd stopped she'd quickly thanked him and cut the link before Kirk was able to say quite what he needed to.

"Yeah," he now said aloud, stuffing the harrowing, recent memory back into his mind. "But her ship won't be back from its mission before….before the funeral. I highly doubt her captain will turn around on one lieutenant's request. Even if that captain _is_ Sulu. He's too responsible."

Spock softly spoke his mind, "Lieutenant Jaala's presence will be missed at the memorial."

Starfleet, in the last several years had spread out their best resources, rather than keep them all on one craft, that craft being the Enterprise. Those most valuable to Starfleet had been encouraged to apply for other situations on other crafts. Sulu had first become a first officer on the Invincible, a heavy fighter carrier, and then soon after, unfortunately because of his captain's death, had been promoted to captain.

Ensign Blackwell, who'd taken Chekov's place years ago had too left them for the Helepolis, an assault carrier for the same position he had held on the Enterprise.

Several other crewmembers had applied and been accepted to other ships, yet many chose to stay on the Enterprise. It's hard to leave something you grew up on. Most of the crew, besides those newer replacements (they'd lost crewmembers over the years due to the dangerous missions the ship had accomplished), had lived a large percentage of their lives on the ship.

It said something though, about the Enterprise's crew, and mostly, about its captain, that some of the best in Starfleet came from the Enterprise. If they were already good, and didn't leave the Enterprise through death, they came out better.

"Yeah, it'd be easier if we were all together right now, but it's just not probable."

Spock replied with an obvious fact, his sharp Vulcan mind could barely help it. "Nor is it practical. Mr. Scott's friends and acquaintances are too far spread out in the galaxy to gather them all before the commemorative. It is fortunate that Nyota and I were here."

Spock and Lieutenant Uhura had married seven years ago. A year after they married, following Spock Prime's path, he accepted the position of Vulcan Ambassador. They'd lost a child through miscarriage that same year. They were now expecting another child, but due to the circumstances, a death, and the prospect of another miscarriage, Uhura had not wanted to tell anyone yet. Spock was hopeful for the child.

Spock, lost in memories, was pulled from his reverie by Kirk's sigh of hopelessness.

He almost told Kirk then about the expected child, if only to make a smile flit across the man's face, but he'd promised Nyota that they'd wait. Instead, he sat down uncomfortably onto the tightly overstuffed chair.

The day was waning, and the artificial lights of Yorktown were dimming in a mimic of evening. More lights were turning on in the building where they sat, and fewer people dashed about in the lobby.

Sitting for three hours more didn't daunt Spock in his self-given task of comforting Kirk. Soon the lights outside simulated night. The glaring lights of the lobby didn't blind Spock's sharp eye to the beauty of the 'night' outside.

Spock had just closed his eyes to the stark, sterile lights when Kirk suddenly spoke.

"You know, I'm not as cut up about him dying as I thought I'd be."

Curious, Spock examined Kirk's face for traces of madness brought on by grief and alcohol. He found that Kirk's eyelids were twitching. His chin was quivering. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slowly glided down his temples.

"I mean, this is inevitable right? We should expect to die anyway. Even when we're not even doing anything reckless."

Mr. Scott had been studying impossible space-time anomalies at his console down in engineering when his heart had jumped too far, had seized up, and then stopped.

Even though they'd done all they could in the med bay, he didn't make it. People didn't always die from heart attacks, but now, in the modern age, it was rare.

"I always thought he'd go out some heroic way, apparently God had another plan." Kirk's voice wavered.

Spock wasn't unfeeling as the words flooded out of Kirk's mouth, he too had known and loved Montgomery Scott. He closed his eyes and tilted his head down, not willing the storming emotions to overcome him.

"It suits him though. Going out this way." Kirk grew slightly restless in his seat; eventually he stood up and tugged agitatedly at the material on his uniform.

"But you'd think," he broke off, composing himself enough to speak the words through his clenched teeth. "you'd think with all of our 'great advances' we'd have ways to prevent this."

A few Starfleet personnel walking past, mostly towards the doors on their ways home, regarded the agitated captain with caution.

Sensing that Kirk might soon lose control Spock made himself ready to calm Kirk down.

"Yeah, they should have been able to do something." Kirk glanced wildly about the room, not resting his eyes on any one person.

Not questioning who 'they' were, Spock stood and attempted to grasp Kirk's shoulders. Kirk pulled from his grasp. "No, _no_ , they _should_ have been able to do _something_." He pointed at several employees who had stopped to watch. A few looked ready to help Spock restrain his captain.

"Oh, but _no_. You're not going to waste resources on an _engineer_ tucked down into the belly of a ship? Huh?" No one said a thing.

"'Course not. You, y-you-you just sit here on your fat butts every day." He pointed randomly at whoever even twitched a finger muscle. "You don't know what it's like out there." He pointed to the black night, towards the great city, but everyone knew he meant what was past the city, past the protective shield: the Black, the cosmos, space.

"Captain," Spock began, but Kirk waved him off, the alcohol surging through his system made him unreasonable and dangerous.

He lurched intimidatingly towards a young female ensign, Spock grew ready. The ensign whimpered and tripped back. Kirk shook his head in loathing. "I wasn't even going to hurt you." His voice was heavy from the effects of the alcohol. He looked about the expansive room once again.

"You're all cowards." His clear words, spoken by a gritty voice echoed in the cavernous lobby.

Focusing his gaze on the girl, he said, "Fifty-two."

No one would know what those numbers were, no one here knew who Montgomery Scott was.

"That's about how old your dad would be." He then turned towards an older woman in uniform. He glanced at her wedding band. "And you, your husband's probably up around there, right?"

He stepped in her direction but she stood fast. He looked about the room madly. His voice was raised to the world when he next said, "None of you even know who Scotty is!

"Chief Engineer. A good friend of mine. You should meet him sometime." He drunkenly stumbled, Spock ran to his side and made him lean against him. "Captain, I believe now is not the time for this. Let me escort you to your quarters."

Leading him past the different sets of angry, sympathetic and shocked eyes, and eventually out the door, Spock directed his captain to lean against a streetlight-pole while he hailed a vehicle. He planned on escorting the captain the whole way to the quarters where those of the Enterprise were staying, those who didn't have families or those whose families weren't at Yorktown.

While he waited for a cab to pass by above, he avoided looking back at Kirk. If a Vulcan chose to allow himself to look impatient, that was Spock right now. The cab didn't arrive.

 **/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"He's really gone, isn't he?"

Spock hesitated, and then looked over his shoulder back at Kirk. "Yes, yes he is."

Kirk nodded, breathing deeply of the artificially cooled 'night' air. "Yeah, I knew I didn't dream it." Spock, not for the first time in his life, and definitely not for the first time today, looked curiously at the man.

"Do you miss him too?"

Spock, tears not idle in his eyes, nodded. "Yes, yes I do."

"Why aren't you crying like a baby like I am…was." Kirk snuffled.

"I do not wish to make a spectacle of myself." Spock internally grimaced at his unchecked words. "I wish to weep for a friend, but I feel that it would be a discredit to him; spending my time weeping instead of remembering."

Kirk tersely nodded a few times. "Yeah, yeah I guess you're right." He looked up past the great bars that held the force field, looked right into the eye of space. "I doubt Scotty would want that."

"From my years of observing all the pain and suffering, I have surmised that," he didn't know if the wisdom would be wasted on Kirk. "It is easier in the "long-run" to recall the memories that were the most pleasant in the experience, instead of suppressing them whilst you simultaneously do so with the unpleasant memories."

Kirk nodded agreeably. Occasionally he would chuckle at some humorous recollection. Spock watched the middle-aged man before him, his head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes full of deep interest. Here stood a man who had had a rough, harsh, almost unfair turn at life. And yet here he was _laughing_ , remembering one of the few people who'd believed in him.

They stood, waiting for the cab, each, in their own minds recalling memories about the stubborn, Scottish engineer.

 **/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Kirk fell asleep within 2 minutes of being buckled into the cab that drifted angelic-like from high above their heads, high above the building behind them.

In 30 seconds he was snoring.

As the late vehicle rose into the air, the robotic voice of the simulated pilot apologized for not arriving promptly after it was called. The city was experiencing disruptions in their communications, and calls weren't going clearly through.

Spock went over in his mind what he would do as soon as his former captain was safely in his lodging. He needed to make a few requests of those 'higher up' in Starfleet, preferably those in Yorktown. His plan was to somehow soften the fist that would ultimately strike a blow of punishment on Kirk within a few days, perhaps even tomorrow, because of his unseemly commotion back at the base.

Public intoxication and disturbance. Sadly, nothing extreme in Kirk's way of living. Spock greatly doubted Starfleet Command would be lenient in their chastisement, even in light of the death of a close friend of their best captain.

Peace and equality. Weren't they two very important goals that they all strived for? And yet an engineer's death didn't bring any notice, at least not as much notice as that of an admiral's death, or a captain's death.

Spock knew respect was a large factor in this puzzling way of life, er, death, but still, it was disturbing.

"Your destination will be reached in approximately 5 minutes and 30.03 seconds." Spock was pleased with the exactness of the time.

He glanced over at the slumped, sleeping form of his former captain, no, captain. Even if he was no longer first officer, James Kirk was, and always would be, his captain.

 **/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

On Spock's way back to the building where Nyota and he stayed, the cab void of Kirk after had walked him to his rooms, he pondered the certainty of death. The inevitability. He imagined a countdown for each of their lives. The seconds ticking down. The exactness of the milliseconds…they _frightened_ him.

 _We are all allotted a limited amount of time…of life, we know this, and yet, we're scared. It is not the certainty of its inevitable end, but the exact time, the_ when _of its influx that worries us_. _I wonder if Mr. Scott was scared, was bothered when he realized, truly, that his time was over._ His thoughts were deep, meaningful, and yet his tired, grief-wracked mind was too frail as of now to carry and process them.

 **/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

He returned to his quarters, held Nyota, concurrently holding their unborn child, slept, dreamed, lived, but he never forgot. Never forgot that life is simply a passing vapor. That the time does end.

He didn't forget, and, in the end, he wasn't afraid.

And reader, I'll tell you, neither was Montgomery Scott; Chief Engineer, son, Scot, friend.

 **/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/**

I am sorry for the ending, IT ( _not_ THE _**IT**_ _, my Wrinkle in Time fans!_ ) apparently, unfortunately wasn't in me!

I hope you enjoyed the second chapter, and will continue reading as the chapters slowly eek out through my fingertips.

I try to write rich descriptions with delicious verbs, do tell me if I succeed in 'painting' a worthwhile story!

God bless you!


End file.
